Past Present

Dear Hermione,

Everything is all set for your visit to take place in three weeks. Sorry to hear that Ron will be away with his family, but Harry tells me he will be coming with you. I think he will like the workouts with the Quidditch team. Bulgaria hasn't hosted the internationals for about ten years. Should be exciting. You will have a good box seat. Meet you both in London bright and early the 15th. You should love Sofia. The library is huge, and so is the museum.

Viktor

She folded up the letter and slipped it into the zippered pocket of her carry-all bag. She had read it dozens of times, wearing deep creases into the parchment. Hermione wondered if Ron was still sore at the two of them for agreeing to visit Viktor during the period when he and his family were going to be visiting Bill in Egypt and Charlie and his dragons. While Ron loved Quidditch, Hermione didn't think he had quite forgiven Viktor for being older, famous, and asking her to the Yule Ball. She could tell he had been torn when Viktor had written them and extended his invitation to both Harry and Ron, so Hermione wouldn't be alone in Bulgaria during her visit.

His owls had been somewhere between outright envy and outrage at them both for visiting the famous seeker without him. Stupid jealousy, really. Ron sometimes felt the same about Harry. She went and petted Crookshanks, telling him goodbye. He and Hedwig were staying here, with her parents. Later, when they moved on to the Weasleys before heading back to Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley would apparate here and pick them up. In exchange, Hermione's parents would also look after Pigwidgeon while Ron and family were gone.

Her mum and dad drove her to the Dursley's to pick up Harry. "Hermione, I'm so glad you're not going by yourself. Sure, he seemed like such a nice boy when he came here for those visits, but I still feel better sending you to Bulgaria with someone else you already know well. You are only fifteen," her mother said over the seat.

"Me too, Mum. Viktor will be practicing and playing a lot. Could get kind of lonely by myself without Harry. Wish Ron could have come too. He was all hot about me getting to see the internationals when I don't know the first thing about Quidditch, according to him."

At the Dursley's, Harry fairly flew out of the house, racing to the car. "Hey," he said, bouncing into the back seat. "You guys don't know how glad the Dursleys were to see you drive up. First of all, it meant they were getting rid of me well before I go back to Hogwarts, and cars don't arouse the suspicions of the neighbors, those dear, respectable folk."

"Where exactly are they?" Mr. Granger asked, peering at the still house.

"Oh, they're afraid to come out. I can't quite seem to convince them that you're Mug-, I mean, non-magical types." Harry grinned at Hermione as he spoke. "So, Hermione, where are we meeting Viktor?"

"He's going to apparate near Charing Cross Road. He's given us an address. We're going to meet at a restaurant there. Then we'll take the portkey to Sofia."

"Ah, so he has got his license then! I wondered if the ages were the same elsewhere," Harry said as he rummaged through the side pocket of his bag. Mr. Weasley had been kind enough to stop by and fetch his school things the day before. Uncle Vernon hadn't been any more thrilled to have Mr. Weasley come popping out of his fireplace than he had been last year, when the Weasleys had picked him up for the Quidditch World Cup.

"Yes, he Apparated here for a couple of visits, one a few weeks after school let out, a three day weekend, actually. We went to the movies and ate hamburgers and milkshakes, mostly. Oh, and he finally had a breakthrough on pronouncing my name. He kept apologizing for butchering it, but there aren't a lot of names like mine in Bulgarian. It was kind of cute anyway. Still sounds nice and foreign when he says it, but it's more recognizable. He makes it sound kind of exotic."

"Not many like it in English. Ordinary Muggle stuff, seems all exotic to him, huh?" Harry asked as he zipped the pocket back up, confident that he had plenty of socks for the visit.

She looked up and sadly shook her head, "More like things he doesn't get a chance to see in Bulgaria or at Durmstrang. Actually, his parents live, somewhere up north near the Russian border, sort of a small farm, near a small wizard village. Smaller than Hogsmeade. Pretty rural, from what he said. And during the communist years, I don't think they had a lot of contact with Muggles outside of a very small circle. I got a hint that wizards there went pretty deep underground, kind of kept to their own. He seemed pretty curious about Muggles from other places. I think his mother works with some Muggles, though. Even Muggles in Bulgaria have a tough time getting to the English films. He knows a bit about Muggle money. The pay he's getting for Quidditch with the Vultures, I get the feeling a lot of it goes to his parents. I gathered that maybe they're not that well off. He said something to the effect that he was lucky he was picked to play for the World Cup and with the pro team, since it earned more than enough to pay for his tuition and books for the year. Said it saved his parents the expense. I get the feeling he's not even at Durmstrang as much as you would think. He mentioned being tutored on the road."

"Oh," Harry mouthed, looking embarrassed. He immediately thought of Ron, and how embarrassing Ron found it when people pointed out that the Weasleys didn't have very deep pockets. "I didn't realize ..."

"I wouldn't dwell on it if I were you. He seemed a little, well, embarrassed by it when he told me. Not nearly as defensive as Ron, but he does seem a little overprotective of his parents. They all seem a bit... proud, I guess."

"Here you are darlings, Charing Cross, and there's the address. Let you out here, you can wait in the cafe there until Viktor shows."

"Thanks Mum."

"Thanks, Mrs. Granger." They slammed the doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk, strolling into the cafe.

"We're early," Hermione observed.

The cafe was largely deserted, it being an odd time of day. Only one table was occupied, and they were quite surprised to realize who was occupying it. "Ron?" Harry asked, gaping, "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, waiting for Viktor. Mum and Dad asked me which I would rather do. Bill had been by for an unexpected visit, stayed at the Burrow for weeks, so we got our visiting in. Charlie, he managed to get away for a few days too and come while Bill was there. I decided I would like to see the internationals, more so than the dragons, even though my poor brother's heart was broken." Ron put his hand over his heart in mock solemnity. "Seriously, I just wanted to go with you two. So where is ickle Vicky anyway? Can't tear himself away from his adoring public long enough?"

Hermione glared at him. Ron indicated the empty chairs. "Sit already. The milkshakes are pretty good. Muggle money does come in handy for some things."

"Ron! Not so loud!" Hermione admonished. Soon, the three of them were sipping at chocolate milkshakes, eyeing the door.

Shortly, they saw a tall, angular shadow walk by the side window, coming from the back alley. "Is that...?" Harry asked, trailing off when Viktor Krum pushed open the cafe door and walked in. They would barely have recognized him, if they had run into him by chance. He had put at least ten pounds since Hermione saw him last, which filled out his slender body slightly. He looked more... healthy, she thought, even in those few weeks since he had last been to England. His dark, hawkish features were the same, but he looked less sallow, more tanned and ruddy, as though he had been spending long hours outdoors in the sun practicing. His longer black hair was slightly tousled, pleasantly unruly, but glossy. He was garbed in a plain black tee and slouchy jeans and hiking boots. Characteristically, his hands were firmly in his pockets unless he was using them, and the incongruous duck-footed walk was still there, but he looked shockingly at home in this completely Muggle setting. Even his shoulders were more relaxed. Somehow, he seemed less weighed down. He didn't even look grumpy, as Hermione had described him upon first seeing his poster on all those Bulgarian tents.

He looked just as at home as Hermione. Harry, as usual, was swallowed up in a sweatshirt that was a hand-me-down from Dudley and a good two sizes too big. Ron, not used to dressing completely like a Muggle, had actually managed a decent outfit of new cargos and a buttoned shirt, but he was far too fascinated by the Velcro pockets on them, electric lights, Muggle money and the milkshakes, he treated those like a newly discovered delicacy. Catching pieces of their conversation, the waiter had eyed them like they were hosting an eccentric exchange student. Funny, Harry thought, he's the only foreigner, yet he's more comfortable in this scene than Ron and me.

"So you are all here already. Good. Milkshakes?" Viktor pointed at their glasses.

"Yes. Milkshakes. Did you want one before we go? You need money for one?" she asked, reaching for her purse.

"No, no, I haff no need for one. And I haff money, just in case. Muggle, British and Bulgarian." he said, patting one jean pocket with his hand. "Vizard money on the other side. Not much time, anyvay. Portkey leaves in fifteen minutes," he said, looking at his watch. They finished their milkshakes, paid (after some quick explanation to Ron about which bills were which) and gathered their things. Viktor scooped up Hermione's bag, putting it on his shoulder.

"Let me get that. Help?" he offered his empty hands to the boys, but they both refused. "Ron, I am glad you vere able to come. You vill like the internationals."

Ron stuck out his lip and looked at Viktor. "Yeah, I bet I will."

"So, where is this portkey?" Hermione asked as they went out onto the sidewalk.

"This vay," Viktor replied, steering them back up the alley he entered from. They walked over three buildings, and Viktor hunted behind a recycling bin for a few minutes before coming up with an empty milk jug.

"This is it," he declared, holding it out by the handle for the others to touch. In a few moments they all felt the familiar tug behind their navels. They found themselves in an alleyway very similar to the one they had just left. "Sorry to make you carry your bags, but there is a very good restaurant in Sofia. Ve can eat there and then take the other portkey to The Pavlova."

"Pavlova?" Ron asked. They shouldered their bags and set off, the unburdened Hermione and Viktor leading Ron and Harry by a few feet.

"Home," Viktor said simply. "It used to be an inn. Ve still call it by its name. It was passed on and on, down to my mother, by her family. My father keeps sheep on the land, my mother vorks in Sofia. She vorks with historical documents, keeping them whole, copying them..." he looked at Hermione, searching for the word.

"Ummm, an archivist?" she hazarded a guess.

"Yes! Archives! She does some translations from Russian, too."

"Your mother speaks Russian? Wow..." Harry breathed.

"Not so impressive. Her grandmother vos Russian. Her grandfather too. My father has Russian ancestors, too. She speaks some English but not much. My father, not as much English. I spend all my summers before the Institute either helping vith lambs or in the museum or library. Broom every night out in the orchard since I vos seven."

"Do you speak Russian?" Hermione inquired.

"I can get by. And Russian is the semi-official language at Durmstrang. Is a beautiful language. I only vish I spoke it as vell as my mother."

"Can't speak much less English than he does, can they? He doesn't speak much of anything, ole silent Vik there..." Ron stage whispered to Harry from the corner of his mouth.

"You speak a second language? Or a third?" Harry muttered back, annoyed now by his friend's negative attitude. Viktor had been nice enough to invite them, after all. Ron colored and his freckles all but disappeared into his flushed face.

As they emerged from the alley and onto the sidewalks of Sofia, the three Britons paused. It was a city so bright and clean it looked fairly polished. The buildings were cool white stone or plaster work, warm red brick, bright jewel colors decorating the insides. Small crowds ambled from shop to shop. It looked almost as though it were right out of the ancient Orient. "It...it's beautiful," Hermione breathed.

"It is a pretty place," Viktor agreed. "Come on, Korrina Sofia is down here. Best food in town."

They stepped into a small, dim cafe, lit with candles and lamps. A pleasantly plump woman with blonde hair strode over. She wore a flowing, silky robe, which suited her regal and commanding demeanor.

"Viktor!" This was followed by a flood of excited Bulgarian. She seemed to be making a great fuss over him, so much that he shyly stared at his boots when he wasn't answering. She hustled them all into a back room, painted in a beautiful Moroccan red, accented with gold and silver here and there, calling "Priem! Priem!" Candles lit the room, and there was a small table set up.

"She velcomes us, you particularly as my guests," Viktor said, as she stood beside their table and beamed at them.

"Surely that wasn't all of it?" Ron said, "Sounds like she read you a chapter from War and Peace." Harry kicked Ron sharply under the table. Viktor blushed.

"She asked about how Quidditch vos going. She bets on Bulgaria vhen I play." Viktor lifted his shoulders in a "what are you going to do?" kind of shrug.

"Well, whoop-de..." Ron began but Harry pasted his shin again before Ron could finish. Hermione glared at him across the table. Viktor looked a bit puzzled, when Ron didn't finish, but let it pass.

"You all like roast mutton?" he asked. They all nodded in the affirmative. Viktor turned to the woman and let loose a torrent of Bulgarian, evidently ordering their entrees. He turned back to the three at the table. "Spiced cider to drink? No alcohol..." They nodded again. More Bulgarian. She bustled off, after patting Viktor on the cheek affectionately. He colored again.

They made small talk about their vacations until the woman came back with four plates. On them, a colorful wild rice, seasoned and speckled with sliced almonds, cushioning a thick, seasoned mutton stew. Alongside, roasted vegetables, hot from a grill. It smelled heavenly, and proved to be a hearty meal. Hermione noted that Viktor even had a generous second helping, though the rest of them declined the woman's pantomimed offers of seconds. Eating like that, it was no wonder that he was starting to fill out. Previously, he had been the only teenage boy she had ever met that wasn't a bottomless pit when it came to food.

"Dessert?" Viktor asked after a respectful five-minute remembrance, spent staring at their empty plates. Ron and Harry had nearly scraped the design off trying to gather up all the broth. Grant you, she had done a fair job at cleaning her plate as well.

"What do you recommend?" Harry asked.

Viktor cast his eyes upward, deep in thought. "Baklava," he said after some consideration.

Soon after, the woman bustled back and took Viktor's order, and within minutes, they had bowls with mounded pastry, honey and walnuts, spiced with cinnamon and sugar, light as air, still steaming from the oven. On the side, fresh whipped cream. She also brought mugs of ice cold milk. By the time they finished, not one of them could eat another bite. The woman came back, pushing little takeaway boxes of pastry on them "Vzimaite nego!" (Take it!) She insisted despite their polite protestations. Viktor made his in Bulgarian, but even that didn't deter her. He quickly gave in and proffered thanks instead.

Viktor reached into his jeans pocket and produced Muggle money, to their great surprise, counting out most of what he carried into his hand. Hermione wondered if he had enough to cover four meals of that size in any currency. But why was he counting Muggle money? Mistake in picking the pocket? They all looked at one another.

"We'll have to ask what we owe him when we get outside. I didn't think to ask about exchanging for Bulgarian money to help with the tab," Hermione whispered across the table. Viktor presented the money to the woman, who began babbling back, shaking her head "no" vigorously, seeming to scold him for daring to pay with Muggle money. Surely that was the problem. She wanted wizard money and Viktor had confused his pockets.

But Viktor insisted, "Vzimaite nego, vzimaite nego, molia. Molia!" (Take it, take it, please. Please!) He captured one of her flapping hands and placing the money in it, talking rapidly the whole while. She protested back all the more, firmly planting the full amount back in his hand, closing his fingers on it, and emphatically pushing it back to his chest.

"Ne, ne, sladko momche!" (No, no sweet boy!) She laughed and scolded him again in good natured fashion, a speech they took to mean "Your money's no good here" since she was making a big production of tearing up the bill where she had written down their orders, tossing the bits into a nearby rubbish bin. He walked back to them, looking slightly stunned.

"She says it is free, her compliments. You are my guests. Ve can go, she tore up the check."

"Hmph! Must be nice being famous, being in the World Cup gets you lots of freebies from your Quidditch fanciers, does it?"

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him.

Viktor looked taken aback. "Korrina Sofia... the couple who runs it, they are Muggles, last name Korrina. She used to vork at the gift shop in the museum vhen I vos small, she vos friends vith Mama. She even has a sister who vent to Durmstrang. Madame Korrina, she is adopted. She has not seen me since I vos sixteen, before I vent to train vith Team Bulgaria for the season... vell over a year...I should haff explained..." he trailed off as Ron slunk down in his seat.

"Sorry," Ron squeaked, finally. "I shouldn't have said it. You were going to pay. You tried to pay. It's not like you asked for it. You two don't ask to get fawned over everywhere you go. Between you two and Miss Brains here, it's a wonder anyone knows I exist. Heck, I used to fawn over you until I got jealous," Ron pouted.

"I haff had vorse. Forgotten," Viktor said simply. "Portkey is in back, just out the back door." They walked out into the narrow alley behind the cafe. Grabbing an old tire propped by the door, they waited a few seconds before being yanked by the navel again.

They all staggered to a stop at the top of a small rise. The sun was going down opposite, casting a purplish glow on the thick clouds, and a golden backlighting to a small orchard of fruit trees and a large stone building with a slate roof. Beyond the building, opposite the orchard stood a small barn, and some wooden fence, enclosing a herd of sheep. Taking in the scene the rise overlooked, Viktor smiled softly, his eyes softened, his shoulders relaxed, his face was as unclouded as they had ever seen. The three Hogwarts students didn't know whether to gape at him or the scene below, so they settled for looking at the small farm and sneaking peeks at him out of the corners of their eyes.

Finally he broke the silence with "Pavlova. Home." He looked round at them. "Best be getting in. They vill vonder vare ve are. It gets cool at night, and sometimes, there are volves."

"Volves! I mean, wolves!?!" Harry exclaimed.

Viktor chuckled softly. "Yes. Ve have sheep. Volves like mutton too. Mostly they howl and make noise, maybe valk by. Unless you corner one, it is probably more afraid of you than you are of it."

"I've heard that fairy tale before...sounds like something Hagrid would say about his skrewts," Harry said doubtfully.

Viktor laughed out loud this time. "Not many volves hang around Ivan and Natasha. They might keep you avake, volves howling, not much else." He pursed his lips slightly, whistled loudly, and from around the barn, two enormous and muscular gray malamutes raced toward them. They skidded to a stop in front of Viktor, wagging and panting like a couple of excited puppies.

He sat Hermione's bag on the grass and leaned over to give the dogs a ruffle on the neck and a scratch on the ears. He didn't have to lean far, since the two dogs were about waist-high when he was standing.

"Ivan," he introduced the darker, silvery dog, obviously the larger of the two. "Natasha", he said, giving the slightly smaller female a rub on the muzzle. She was a lighter gray, white tipped hairs here and there among her fur. "Sheep dogs. They stay out vith the sheep to keep volves avay." The dogs circled the newcomers cautiously, suspiciously, letting out gruff growls as they prowled. Finally they stopped, staring at Harry with big, piercing blue eyes.

"Um, Viktor?" Harry asked, "They do know we're friendly...?" Viktor smiled again.

"Pet them. If I do not tell them to eat you alive, no danger. They might lick you to death, othervise." Harry gingerly patted the two dogs, which were now crouched in front of him, motionless.

Like they were playing some bizarre version of freeze tag, the two dogs relaxed and wagged and panted as enthusiastically as they had for Viktor. They approached Hermione, who quickly ruffled their ears and was rewarded with the same enthusiasm.

Ron was more reticent; eyeing the dogs crouched before him for several moments before asking, "I won't draw back nubs, will I?" Viktor cocked a dark eyebrow. Ron reached out for Natasha slowly, and she barked, a sharp, echoing bark that caused Ron to jump.

Viktor chuckled again. "She is impatient. She thinks you are too slow." He ruffled the dog's thick fur with his hands, fingers buried in it, discreetly guiding the dogs back from Ron a bit. Ron was able to pet the dogs now, their tails beating out a tattoo on Viktor's jeans as they wagged furiously.

They gathered up their bags again and walked the last few yards to the house. The dogs never strayed far from Viktor, flanking him as though they were on short leashes. They entered a large wooden door, into a den, with a huge stone fireplace, high ceiling, and rough beams. They clustered their bags near the door, and Viktor called out in Bulgarian. From the back of the house, a woman emerged, wiping her hands on an apron. She untied it, tossed it onto a chair, walked slowly over to Viktor, reached up and placed her hands lovingly on either side of his face. Finally she ran one small white hand under the thick black bangs covering his forehead and ruffled his hair back affectionately, though she could barely reach, even on tiptoe. She murmured one word, "Sokrovishte," then dropped her hands and inclined her head to peek around Viktor and take in the three guests standing by her door.

His mother. She had the same thick black hair, the same thick, dark lashes and brows, the same deep brown, almost inky eyes. She was petite, Viktor towered over her, and she had an angular face, much like Viktor's, with one major exception. Her nose was very dainty, slightly upturned at the end. On her, the Slavic features were delicate and beautiful against her milky white skin. Her full flushed lips were curved up into a reserved but welcoming smile, but there was still something about her that seemed sad.

"This is my mother, Anya," Viktor said, rather unnecessarily. "Mama, this is Ron Veasley." Viktor seemed to make a point of introducing Ron first.

"Hello, Mrs. Krum. Thank you for having us," Ron volunteered.

"Hello, priem, velcome," she nearly whispered, nodding at him.

"This is Harry Potter," Viktor continued.

"Mrs. Krum," Harry greeted her.

"Priem," she said, simply.

"And this is Hermione Granger," Viktor finished. She seemed to take in Hermione a bit longer, then nodded and murmured a greeting to her as well.

"Velcome to Pavlova. Four rooms free upstairs, choose and ve prepare," she said softly, folding her hands in front of her. "Viktor writes much about you all."

She turned to Viktor and spoke softly in Bulgarian, indicating the three visitors. "Vould you like a bath, refreshment, anything before you go to bed?" Viktor translated.

"A bath and a bed, I think. I'm bushed." Harry stifled a yawn as soon as he finished the sentence. The others nodded.

"You vont to pick your rooms?" Viktor asked.

"Is there much of a difference?" Ron asked.

"Not really, they all haff small baths and are nearly the same size. One faces a different direction. The beds just need sheets and the baths towels and soap," Viktor replied.

"You pick then, Viktor, I'm sure it will be fine," Hermione interjected. Viktor turned back to his mother, and began reeling off room assignments in Bulgarian. She hurried off to gather the linens. Viktor made to follow, but she turned and motioned him back.

"She loves guests," he shrugged. "She says it makes it feel like a real inn again." As he finished, they heard the back door thunk shut, and soon Viktor's father stood in the doorway. The resemblance to his father was also fairly apparent. He had inherited the reedy height, in fact, he was an inch taller than his father, and his father's hair was as dark and thick as his mother's, with a little wave.

His father was a bit broader and sturdier in frame, even more heavily muscled, being more mature in body. He wore a slight frown, not the displeased and angry frown Viktor had sported most of his time at Hogwarts, but a small downturn of the mouth, as though he were studying something in his mind. It was easy to see he had the same full mouth that Viktor generally scowled with. As he walked in, they noted his duck-footed gait. The slightly hooded, almost sleepy eyelids and hooked nose were his father's contributions as well. Hermione couldn't get over how much Viktor resembled both of his parents. Much like the Weasleys and their brood, where it was hard to put your finger which parent each child resembled more.

His father's nose hadn't been on the receiving end of several bludgers though. Viktor's had been broken so many times he had nearly lost count. At least five, Hermione remembered him saying. His father shook his hand and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder, the slight frown dissolving into a quiet smile. Again the introductions all around.

His father, Nikolas, didn't bother with even cursory attempts at English. Standing behind his father, listening to the words he was about to translate for them, Viktor slowly and subtly rubbed down the bridge of his nose with his index finger and simultaneously jerked his head toward his father, a little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, his thick left eyebrow cocked up. It was all the three could do not to burst out laughing at Viktor's reference. Nikolas welcomed them in a flood of Bulgarian and let Viktor translate. Consequently, his welcome speech was a bit longer than Mrs. Krum's. He seemed somewhat more effusive than his shy wife.

"...and if you need anything, just ask," Viktor finished up as Mrs.Krum returned downstairs. "I'll valk you up," Viktor said, leading them up the stairs. He walked down the hall and worked his way back toward the stairs, dropping off Ron, then Harry.

Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Where's your room?" she asked.

"Down there," he inclined his head to the room at the far end of the hall, furthest from the stairs and her room.

"May I see?" He nodded. They walked down the hall and he swung open the door. She almost winced, it was so painfully bare. It looked as though he was staying at a hotel overnight, not home. A few piles of books, some neatly packed bags on the floor, not much to personalize the room.

"Not much to see. I travel so much...school, practice, games, last year Hogvarts ... Vhen I could not just apparate home, I did not get here much. No need to keep it too nice. I own a few books." He waved his hand at the stacks on his bedside table and a few volumes on the shelves.

"I understand. Must be hard on you. And your parents. The last couple of years, all that practicing."

"Hermione, I vos recruited into state-sponsored Quidditch my first year at Durmstrang, vhen Karkaroff talked to scouts he knew. I vent from Durmstrang to live and practice vith the national team. I spent two veeks home that summer. They vould have used me in the last Vorld Cup the next year, but I vos not old enough to play. Just practice. I did play in pro games at fifteen, though." It was the nearest she had heard him come to hearing him brag about his record-breaking play in the pro league. To hear him tell it now, he didn't seem to find it much to brag about.

"Oh," she said softly, "I didn't realize..."

He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Hermione, Bulgaria is very different from England. Ve haff more freedom than ve used to, more vealth, but being good on a broom at Durmstrang is still a lot like being a Muggle vith skill on a balance beam in Romania. A good vay to avoid starving... other things... haffing to make decisions. Famous seekers don't disappear easily." He blushed furiously, and looked away, as though ashamed of what he had just said.

"Viktor, is there something you need to tell me?" she asked softly.

He looked back. "Just this for now. Know things haff been very different here, and at Durmstrang. Not far over those mountains is Russia. Durmstrang..." He paused and inclined his head to the window. "Communism falling vos good, but painful to live through anyvay. Then the Death Eaters... You vill haff to be patient vith me. I am trying to change things for better. You should go to bed, now."

"Okay, I can take a hint." He gave her hand a squeeze, and walked her to her door. "One last thing. Why did you invite Ron and Harry? Not that I'm not glad you did, but you weren't particularly close and Ron..."

"Less pressure. Not as lonely for you. I am patient. Vith you. Vith Ron," he answered curtly.

"Goodnight, Viktor."

"Goodnight Hermione. Sveet dreams." He shut the door to his room softly behind him.

Down the hall, Hermione crawled into bed. She replayed the conversation in her mind. Viktor's life had been molded by the "state Quidditch machine" far more than she had known, then. Imagine being away from home that much at age twelve! Even boarding school allowed for holidays and summers home, Viktor didn't seem to have had much time at home, though. She had known that Bulgaria and Russia had a great deal of economic and political upheaval the last few years, and it seemed that even the wizard world was affected deeply.

She wondered particularly about Viktor's comment on making decisions, and disappearing. If it was as sinister as it had sounded, it worried her a great deal. She shook it off by convincing herself that she was tired and reading too much into it. Viktor had probably, like Harry, gotten used to being recognized everywhere, and needed that affirmation in some way. It was sweet that he was making an effort to pander to Ron, even if Ron was being babyish sometimes. She nestled into the down comforter and down pillows, and slept.